


Febuwhump 2019

by undeerqueen



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Broken Bones, Car Accidents, Concussions, Drowning, Drug Use, Drugs, Father-Son Relationship, Febuwhump 2019, Gen, Gun Violence, Happy Hogan - Freeform, Horror, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, Irondad, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Will add tags as I go, in chap 3 specifically, in chap 6 but not really, the major character death is in chap 5
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-10-21 23:28:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17651717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undeerqueen/pseuds/undeerqueen
Summary: Fills for Febuwhump 2019.A collection of mostly Hurt!Peter and Irondad angst.





	1. Trapped

**Author's Note:**

> you can find the inspiring prompts for this here: https://spidersonangst.tumblr.com/post/181695744243/hey-guys-since-i-love-sleeplessly-reading-about#notes

Getting into the car was a mistake, he realised straightaway. _Why am I doing this again?_ he thought incredulously, legs scraping on the car door. As Peter tucked his body through the smashed side window, head pressing against the soft ceiling of the car, every spider sense in his body was screaming at him that this was a bad idea.

The metal lurched and the toddler in the car seat grizzled anxiously, her tiny feet kicking against the seatbelt trapping her in place.

Oh yeah. That was why.

"It's okay, little baby," Peter said softly, heart hammering. "It's gonna be okay, Spidey's got you." Ignoring the creeping feeling of dread, he secured a web to the outside of the car and wrapped it tightly around his middle. It had just enough give to allow him to reach forward and rip the girl's seatbelt apart. He lifted her into his arms.

The toddler's arms went around his neck instantly and he held her up one-handed. "There you go, Princess. It's okay, I got you now."

The metal shuddered and dropped another few feet and the little girl cried out, tucking her head into his neck. Sweat sprang out on his nape and he turned, reaching out of the window. The webbing around his stomach tightened and he grimaced, struggling to fit his body back through the way he came.

"Gotta cut out Mr Delmar's sandwiches, Parker," he jibed aloud, panting for breath. Standing on the bridge, leaning over the barrier, were gathered civilians, including the girl's parents who were crying and clutching one another.

The metal shook again and the small crowd screamed. Peter risked a glance downwards where the Hudson river churned ominously and his mouth went dry.

"Okay, don't look down. Copy that," he said to himself, breathless and hot. He went to jump free from the car but the webbing tightened again, freezing him in place. "Oh, come on! What kind of superhero gets stuck by their own technology?"

"Kid, if I had a dime for every time I've thought that, I'd be...Well, still rich. _Richer._ " Mr Stark's voice crackled to life in his ear.

"Mr Stark!" Peter breathed, then cringed at the panicked tone of his voice.

"On my way, kid, gimme a status report. Karen's telling me there's 135ft between you and the Hudson river right now. Why aren't you moving?"

"I'm kinda...stuck? I've got a civilian, Mr Stark—she's just a little baby—and this car is gonna drop any second!" Karen overlaid a structural diagram on his HUD of the weak points in the webbing where Peter had tried to snatch the car back to safety after it had been thrown through the barrier.

"Can you throw her?"

"What?" Peter narrowed his eyes, then shot them wide open when the car creaked and tipped. The squeak he let out was covered by the baby's soft cry of alarm.

" _Throw her,_ Pete, can you throw her to safety?" Mr Stark demanded, exasperated. "You're 20ft below the bridge by my calculations; you must be able to work out the exact velocity needed to propel her to safety."

"I can't just throw a baby into thin air, Mr Stark!" Peter gasped, sweat rolling down his back. The webbing was like a steel bar around his stomach, tightening with every small increment the car made towards the river below.

"You're running out of options," Mr Stark shot back. In the background through his earpiece, Peter could hear his mentor's thrusters burning faster. "That car's gonna drop any second, kid. I can get you out no problem but the kid complicates things. If she falls, she won't make it. But if you throw her to safety, someone will catch her."

"He's right, Peter," Karen murmured in his ear. "I predict the child's chances of survival at 0.2% if you fall, versus the 88% chance you can throw her to safety on the bridge."

His heart sped up, breaths quickening in his chest. He gulped, cradling the squirming child to him as Karen plotted his trajectory.

"On Karen's mark, kid, throw her," Mr Stark ordered softly.

"Guys on the bridge!" Peter screamed to the assembled crowd. "CATCH!"

"Sorry, sweetie," he murmured, extending his arm. The child squealed in his grip.

Then there was a sound he hadn't heard yet, the whip-snap of a web. There was a sudden, final screech of metal, and the car tumbled away from the bridge.

With all his might, even as the car was falling, Peter tossed the little girl into the air, heart in his mouth, stomach dropping with the velocity. She disappeared over the top of the bridge and Mr Stark crowed in his ear.

"Nice work, kid!"

"Well done, Peter. You executed a perfect throw. Now brace for impact!" Karen instructed. Peter didn't have time to feel the warmth of his success. As the speed of the fall increased, he flew back through the window into the car, sucked in by gravity. The angry tug of the webbing around his middle broke some of his ribs straightaway, he could tell, sharp, shocking pain cutting through him. Then the car smacked the water and plunged below the surface.

He must have blacked out for a second, because when he woke his ears were ringing and he was sprawled across the backseat, water filling the cab in gallons.

"...talk to me, kid!" his mentor was roaring in his ear, his voice that same shade of furiously protective it always got when Peter was injured or in danger.

"Mr Stark, it's filling up fast!" Water rolled over him, already up to his shoulders and neck.

"Deep breaths, kid, I'm two minutes away."

Peter's hands found the webbing under the icy water, slipped and slid as they tried to get a grip on it. He yanked and pulled feverishly but the webbing could take his weight as he swung through NYC for a reason.

He let out a frantic yell, desperately trying to yank it off, even as his shoulders sank with the weight of the cold river pressing down on him.

"Pete, stay calm—"

"It won't budge, Mr Stark, I can't get the webbing off! I'm trapped down here!" He panted hysterically, tilting his head up to the ceiling, body flopping upwards off the backseat as the water rose up to the chin of his mask.

"Peter—KID! Calm down, you have to stay calm, Underoos, you're wasting air!" Mr Stark commanded. "Don't talk. Don't talk, just relax, I'll be there to cut you out before you know it, alright? I'll keep talking. You gotta help me out here!"

Mr Stark's words sank over him, even as the cold water crept into his bones. His cheek was pressing against the car ceiling now, water running over his lips. "Okay, Mr Stark, okay. I—"

The water filled the car as it came to a clanking halt against the riverbed. Peter blinked once and found himself completely underwater.

The freezing dark crept in, murky water surrounding him in all directions. The car creaked lowly as it settled fully in its final resting place. The quiet was so loud, Peter's ears filling with white noise, high-pitched ringing as his lungs started to twitch anxiously.

"Okay, kid, I'm here, your vitals are still good," Mr Stark said quietly, voice betraying none of the panic Peter knew his mentor would be feeling.

The cold was pressing in now. Peter wondered how his body could still dip and bob in the water when ice was leeching at his core, freezing his limbs in place, even as he floated quietly in the dark.

"Great job on taking care of that little girl, by the way. Under pressure, falling into a river stuck to the side of a car, and you still executed a perfect throw. I've got an interview with her parents pinging on my HUD as we speak. They're so grateful to you, Spidey. You should be proud. I sure am."

A tiny burst of warmth went through Peter at that, immediately sucked out into the murk. The need for air was becoming more pressing. He raised a hand to his mask and lifted it just over his chin. Tiny bubbles popped out his lips. He watched them glitter and rise in the darkness.

"90 seconds, Pete. Keep your eyes open." Mr Stark ordered. "You know this is giving me all kinds of upgrade ideas? Want to work on them together when your ribs have healed up? I'm kind of in shock that neither of us thought to install some kind of water safety device to your suit, _especially_ after you spent all summer fighting that canal creature in Venice. Hey, kid, speaking of, did I ever tell you I speak Italian?"

" _Che vuole questa musica stasera!_ " Mr Stark sang suddenly, _loudly_ , into Peter's ear, startling his eyes open. His arms twitched and he let out a low burble, more bubbles escaping his lips.

"Whoops. Sorry, kid," his mentor said not sounding remotely apologetic. He continued gently, "You gotta keep those eyes open for me, okay?"

Peter was barely listening, blind animal panic settling over him. His lungs were winding up tighter and tighter, the space around him growing smaller and smaller. He thrashed, legs and arms thumping against the car seats and the ceiling, webbing coiling around his middle like a python. His ribs _ached_ , lungs searing for air. He scrabbled at his own cheeks, the car ceiling, fingers cutting through the soupy water.

"Do not breathe in, kid, I mean it!" Mr Stark was shouting now, but it was dim and coming from far away. He had to breathe, he needed to _breathe._

"I'm one minute away! Kid, don't—"

Peter's lips parted and water filled his mouth. He took a huge gulp and freezing water rushed down his windpipe, filled his lungs, cracking like icy splinters inside. The car was going black as his body sank to the car seat. The pain reached a short, clipped crescendo as the water pooled in his lungs, then everything went dark.

 

* * *

 

"He's inhaled water, Boss!" FRIDAY reported.

"Pulse is slowing, Mr Stark, Peter is no longer conscious," Karen informed him.

"Goddammit!" Tony seethed, terror clawing at his stomach as he urged his suit to carry him faster. The Hudson bridge was in sight now, the body of water gaping and untroubled, heedless of the fact it had just swallowed one of the brightest souls in existence.

As he hit the water—suit responding instinctively and propelling him through the dark, lights and thrusters gleaming—Tony vowed it would not have him. Death would not have Peter Parker, not today, _not ever_ , if Tony could help it.

FRIDAY guided the suit almost on auto-pilot to the wrecked car. He glided to a stop just in front of it, hands pressing on the metal shell. Inside in the back—webbing wrapped around him like a perverse bandage—Peter lay against the backseat. The eye slits of his mask were still open, an automatic reflex programmed if the wearer fell unconscious. It was bunched up around his nose, exposing his parted mouth. He was limp and lifeless.

Without sparing a second, Tony tore off the door, reaching inside and dragging the boy into his arms. The hand of his suit converted to a blade tough enough to slice through Peter's webbing and Tony wasted no time in freeing him. The kid sagged in his grip and they shot through the water towards the surface.

FRIDAY directed him to the riverside, away from clicking cameras and curious civilians, and Tony rolled out of the suit before he had fully touched down, Peter collapsing in a sprawl beside him.

He crawled onto his knees and grabbed his protégé. "Kid?" he asked frantically, shaking the boy.

Nothing.

"FRIDAY!" he ordered, voice hoarse and shaking.

"Start CPR, Boss, you need to get the water out of his lungs!" his AI explained.

Quickly, Tony yanked off the kid's mask all the way. He was ghostly pale beneath the material, cheeks spotted with purple and lips going blue at the edges. The engineer's fingers found no pulse at the boy's throat.

He tilted the kid's head back so far it looked unnatural, his Adam's apple poking into the air. His hands met over the boy's chest and began to press down, instinct and practice taking over as he started compressions.

"Come on, kid, come on," Tony begged between rescue breaths, his heart racing fast enough for the both of them. "Don't tell me I took First Aid for nothing! COME ON!"

He pushed down on the kid's chest again, winched at the give of the boy's already broken ribs, terrified he was going to do more damage.

The engineer leaned over Peter's face once more when the boy's eyes suddenly shot open and he gagged, bringing up water all over himself.

"Thank God," Tony breathed, turning Peter onto his side as the kid coughed and choked. "You're alright, kid, I've got you." His hands smoothed up and down the kid's back, one finding the sodden curls forming on his head. "Just breathe."

" _Mr Stark,_ " Peter moaned when he'd finished gasping and sputtering, voice like gargled glass. He rolled onto his back, shakily pushing himself up to his elbows. Tony collapsed next to him, winding an arm around the boy's shoulders unthinkingly. The kid fell against him, wheezing and heaving still.

They breathed together companionably for a moment, the close call swamping them both like a cloak.

"Just breathe, you're alright, you're okay now. I got you out, you're okay," Tony kept saying unthinkingly, programming Peter's suit to turn on the heater via his wristwatch.

Peter sighed and sank into him further. At last, the kid spoke. "I didn't know you could speak Italian, Mr Stark," he said thinly at last.

"That's your take-away from all this?" the engineer sniped, staring down at the sodden kid, who gazed up at him like a half-drowned puppy, just as soaked and vulnerable.

The kid thought for a moment. " _Grazie per avermi salvato la mia vita_."

"Don't tell me you picked that up from two weeks in Italy," Tony replied, a bit incredulous.

Peter shook his head and grinned cheekily. " _La_ _mia zia_."

 _Of course._ He wanted to say something back that was cool and detached, dripping with his patented snark. But what came out was, " _Ti proteggerò sempre,_ " and Peter looked just as shocked at the words as Tony did saying them, cheeky smile sliding off the boy's young face.

"Thank you, Mr Stark," the boy murmured softly. He turned his head when he had to cough again, droplets of water scattering from his hair. When he was finished, Peter let out a soft gasp as his broken ribs pulled and crunched. The breeze was picking up and even with the heater, the kid was still shaking. Tony refused to acknowledge that his own hands were doing the same.

"Let's go, kid. You need to get those ribs checked." Tony's suit reformed around him and he stood, pulling Peter up and gathering the kid into his arms. Peter slipped his mask back on and reclined lazily.

"Comfy?" Tony drawled.

Peter chuckled. "How many times am I gonna get a free ride from Iron Man? Gotta take advantage where I can, dude."

Tony shot into the air, his mind studiously blocking out pulling Peter from the water earlier.

 _If it keeps you safe,_ Tony thought, leaving the river behind them, _as many times as I can, kid_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> imagine having literally 100 wips for this fandom then finishing none of them and disappearing lol. imagine up and deciding to become a teacher and free time just ~vanishing~ before ur own two eyes. imagine literally adoring this fandom and its creators and wanting to come back...so here we go lol.
> 
> also side-note: depressingly i've been learning italian for like a year and a half but god bless duolingo it's piss poor at actually teaching me the language conventions so i apologise to any and all those fluent in italian for my tragic mistakes!
> 
> che vuole questa musica stasera -- an italian song, think it translates roughly to 'do you want to hear music tonight'??  
> grazie per avermi salvato la mia vita -- thank you for saving my life  
> la mia zia -- my aunt  
> ti proteggerò sempre - i will always protect you


	2. Peer Pressure

Normally, Peter didn't mind his small circle of friends. That circle—which consisted of him, Ned, and MJ—was generally all he needed to keep the bullies like Flash and his cronies off his back. They were three nerdy musketeers, the kind of kids who didn't mind spending lunch in the library or the robotics lab, Ned and Peter building Lego sets while MJ read them weird facts from Wikipedia. Peter had acquaintances around school, like most people, but Ned and MJ were his close friends, the ones he partnered up with and spent lunches with and went to decathlon practice with.

Which is why it sucked when both Ned and MJ had both been taken out by the nasty case of norovirus sweeping the school.

Peter shouldered open the door to the classroom, careful not to knock down the precariously taped sign reading: DECATHLON PRACTICE HERE 2.30-4 DO NOT DISTURB!

Inside, the remains of the Decathlon team not terminated by illness stared up at him as he entered the room. He ignored the prickling feeling of loneliness that had been plaguing him all day and took a seat next to Cindy as Flash crowed, "Finally, Penis, you're here!"

"Get on with it, Flash," Cindy said, rolling her eyes. Peter shot her a grateful smile which she returned, and pulled his notebook out of his backpack.

"Whatever. Okay, so since we're down a teacher, our team captain, and two teammates, I'm taking it upon myself to be our de facto leader, all in agreement?"

"I don't think that is allowed..." Abe put in.

Flash waved him off. "So anyway, we've got our friendly match against Bronx tomorrow and I don't know about you guys but this just isn't going to cut it. We're down two of our best, plus the captain. They're going to kick our asses."

"Why don't we just cancel?" Peter offered, frowning.

"' _Why don't we just cancel?_ '" Flash mocked in a high falsetto and Peter huffed, wrinkling his nose. "Any suggestions from people that aren't complete bitches? We can't cancel! This is our first match since the summer and I don't want us to get rusty!"

Blank stares and side-eyes met Flash's diatribe, as well as a heavy silence. He ran a hand through his hair and stepped forward, his shoulders hunched and eyes shifting.

"Look, I didn't want to talk about this, I mean, my father hasn't announced anything yet—" People started to lean forward as Flash lowered his voice and fished for something in his blazer pocket. It was well-known that Flash's father was the very wealthy CEO of a huge pharmaceutical company; anything that connected him to an innocent high school decathlon friendly couldn't be good. Peter's stomach started to sink, the frown deepening on his face.

Sure enough, a packet of non-descript pills appeared in Flash's hand. "—He's been working on these for a while. They're just caffeine pills basically, amp up your metabolism, give you loads of energy. He gave them to me before finals last year. Perfectly safe, I've taken them myself, they're just not out to the general public yet. If we all take one, we can cram hard tonight and smash it at the competition tomorrow. No one has to know anything."

To Peter's horror, a couple of his teammates looked like they were actually considering it. "What's in them?" Abe asked, gesturing to hold them.

Flash handed them over. "Just like green coffee bean and stuff." He caught Peter's incredulous gaze and sneered. "Okay, I don't know! But they work and they're 100% safe, I swear! Come on, guys, I can't be the one carrying all your lazy asses tomorrow just because you all chickened out. Think of MJ and Mr Harrington when they come back, how stoked they'll be that we won on our own!"

"I guess..." Cindy said thoughtfully. Abe nodded as well.

He popped one from the packet. "Just one?" Abe asked and Flash nodded enthusiastically.

"Just one! Here, I'll do it too!" He plucked the packet from Abe's hand and popped one for himself. "Cindy, you in?"

 _Don't do it, Cindy,_ Peter thought a little desperately, his hands clammy under the desk. They were all seriously going to do it. A team of high school decathlon students at one of the most prestigious schools in the country all egging each other on to take an unlicensed drug. It was like a bad public service announcement coming to life.

Everything Ben, May, and Tony had told him about peer pressure and not to give into it was crashing down around him. He didn't want to do this.

But equally, he didn't want to be the only one left out. He'd been on his own all day—most of the week, in fact—while Ned and MJ fought off their illness. It was cripplingly lonely and maybe now he could be a part of something. After all, if he didn't, he would be letting the team down. God knew he'd done enough of that last year with Liz and the Vulture. This was his shot at forgiveness.

This was his chance to prove himself.

One by one, Flash was dishing out pills to the other students, who were grinning and talking conspiratorially, like it was a game. He came and stood in front of Peter's desk.

"What about it, Parker?" Flash intoned, holding out a little white capsule. "You in?"

 _Don't do it, Peter,_ a voice in his head ordered. It sounded a lot like Mr Stark.

With a dry mouth, heart fluttering, Peter spoke. "I'm in."

Flash smiled, for once without malice, and actually clapped him on the shoulder. "Yes, man! Okay, ready?" They all held their pills up to their mouths. Peter followed suit after a beat, hoping no one noticed his shaking fingers.

"One, two, three!"

Simultaneously, they swallowed their capsules. Peter half expected Iron Man to come crashing through the wall with a shouted lecture about responsibility and drag him off to the Compound to get checked out.

As it was, nothing happened. His mouth stayed dry and his throat felt tight, the capsule feeling like it was stuck at his larynx. Peter's hands dragged his water bottle from his back pack and took a subtle sip, washing it all the way down. It sat like a stone in his stomach.

"Well, cool," Flash said nonchalantly. He shouldered his own backpack, swinging his coat over one shoulder. "As acting team captain I say we should head home early. We'll get more done studying on our own. Peace out, losers. Message me in the chat if you need anything."

"See you tomorrow, Peter," Cindy said, standing as well.

"Yeah, bye," Peter said a little hoarsely, regretting with every passing second the stupidity of what he'd just done.

 _Your metabolism will burn through it,_ he tried to reason with himself. _Don't even worry about it._

Peter tried to put it from his mind as he pulled his phone from his pocket.

 _Hey Happy,_ his fingers typed out. _Any chance of pick-up? Practice finished early._

 _Sure, kid,_ the reply came instantly. _See you soon_.

 

* * *

 

They'd been driving up to the Compound for almost thirty minutes before Happy broke the silence.

"You feeling alright, kid?" the driver said, frowning at him through the rear view mirror.

Peter blinked, a droplet of sweat rolling down his back. "Huh?"

"You love Lab Wednesdays, normally talk my ear off the whole way up here. Radio silence ain't like you. Anything going on I should know about?"

Peter's ears buzzed, face flushing hot. "Uh, no, no, sorry, man. Just thinking."

The crease of Happy's forehead told Peter he didn't buy it. Licking his dry lips, Peter changed tack. "Actually, I think maybe I'm coming down with something? Ned and MJ were off today, maybe I caught it from them."

"Oh, that's great, bring it into my car," Happy snarked. His eyes flicked away then back to Peter again when he leaned his head against the cool window. "Seriously, kid, you alright?"

"Fine," he croaked out, heart hammering in his chest. His fingers were shaking.

"'Cause I can take you home, it's no big deal. You know Tony will understand."

 _Understand and be instantly on guard,_ Peter's mind instantly finished. He could not rouse suspicion in his mentor. If he ever found out what Peter had done... Well, Peter didn't even want to think about the consequences.

Peter ran a trembling hand through his hair, curls smoothing over with the sweat that had collected at his forehead. "It's fine, man, seriously. I'll be okay when we're there."

"Maybe get some rest until we arrive, at least. You don't look so good," Happy pointed out.

"Thanks," Peter replied wearily, closing his eyes. Happy was right; a little snooze and he'd be fine.

 

* * *

 

"Kid. KID!"

Peter's eyes shot open, scalding air pressing in on him from all directions. The huge expanse of the Compound opened up before him.

"Wake up!" Happy was saying as Peter tried to orient himself. "We're here. Do I need to get Tony?"

"N-No, no. I'm good. Thanks, Happy. See...See you later." Before the chauffeur could ask any more questions, Peter tumbled out of the car and staggered up to Tony's private entrance. His knees were shaking as he walked, feeling like they were going to collapse under him at any second. The slight incline up to the automatic door had Peter feeling like he was going to die, blood thundering in his ears, heart squirming in his chest. Sweat poured off him; the sleeves of his shirt were sticky with it beneath his jacket. He gasped for air, each breath shorter and more desperate. His stomach sloshed and ached dangerously. Peter's mouth had never been so dry, every swallow like inhaling sand. His throat itched and thirsted unbearably.

The automatic doors slid open, Peter barely able to spare a thought to be grateful for the recognition software Tony had in place that let him in without having to go through any of the usual intricate security checks. He staggered across the marble foyer to the elevators. FRIDAY opened one for him immediately.

"Good afternoon, Peter. Your vitals are all over the place. Do you need assistance?"

"No, n-no thanks, Fri," Peter gasped, falling against the railing and clutching it. "Can you...take me to Mr Stark?" His vision was going white and filling with static.

"Going down." The elevator began to move more quickly than Peter had ever felt it move before. Unable to stop himself, Peter collapsed to his knees and heaved, vomit cascading out of him. He coughed and hacked then shoved himself backwards across the floor, one hand going to his mouth. _Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,_ he thought, horror flooding through him and turning him cold for just a moment before fire swamped him again. He pulled himself to his feet, tugging at his collar, just as the doors slid open.

Across the room, Mr Stark—in his band t-shirt and dark jeans, always casual on Lab Wednesdays—turned to face him.

"Hey, kid," he greeted with a wave.

Peter staggered out of the elevator and watched Mr Stark's expression go blank with shock. "Mr Stark," he mumbled, his vision whiting out, "I don't feel so good." His strength drained away in one fell swoop and he hit the floor on his knees.

As his hands touched the floor too, Peter must have blacked out for a split second because the next thing he knew, Mr Stark was by his side, gathering him into his arms and helping him to lay flat on the floor.

"Kid, what's going on? Talk to me!" Mr Stark demanded breathlessly.

Peter couldn't speak. His eyes felt hot and swollen, the light shining through the whiteness stealing his vision too bright for him to bear. He rolled his head to the side and dimly registered the second elevator opening, Happy tumbling out and sprinting to join Mr Stark at his side.

"What the hell, Happy?" Mr Stark barked, trying to get Peter's shaking form to hold still long enough for him to press his cold fingers to Peter's throat.

"I knew something was going on with him," Happy replied, shaking his head. "Med team is on the way."

Mr Stark turned back to him when Peter tugged at his sleeve. "Mr Stark," he mumbled, gagging. His mentor turned him away and let him throw up onto the floor.

"Alright, kid, let it out, that's it." The engineer's hand was moving through his sweaty curls. It was nice and sweet and Peter didn't deserve it. He shook Tony's hand off.

"I'm sorry," he moaned, rolling his head in Tony's grip.

"It's alright, kid, it happens—"

"N-No. I gotta...gotta tell you, Mr Stark..."

"Tell me what, Peter?" Mr Stark asked seriously, his dark eyes burning through the white clouds tingeing the edge of Peter's vision.

His heart kicked up a gear and his hands went numb. One eye winked out and Peter went dizzy even as he lay in his mentor's arms.

"I took...took something..."

Mr Stark's hands hurt his arms where they gripped him suddenly. "What did you take?" he demanded, suddenly livid. "What did you take?!"

"Tony," Happy warned.

"I don't...don't...'m sorry," Peter breathed. Then the heat overwhelmed him, static stealing him away, as he fell into the blessed, cool dark.

 

* * *

 

It was the dryness in his throat that woke him, persisting even through the easy blankness surrounding him in all directions. Peter pulled his eyes open, licking his lips before he was fully aware.

Something shockingly cold appeared at his mouth and he swallowed greedily, ice soothing his parched throat on its way down. It was enough to bring him fully to his senses and he drank in the sight of his mentor leaning over him, spooning ice chips into his mouth. He was studiously avoiding Peter's eyes and Peter could sense the fury his mentor was holding back in every careful, clipped action. Behind Tony, the shape of one of the Compound's medical rooms sprang to life around him.

"'M sorry," he blurted before he could stop himself. "What, uh...What happened?"

Mr Stark put the bowl of ice chips back on the bedside table with slightly more force than necessary. One of them flew out and landed on Peter's skin, a sharp, sudden, small pain that eased instantly as it melted on his overheated arm.

His mentor sank into the chair at his side, pulling a pair of glasses from the neck of his t-shirt and slipping them onto his face, studying Peter from over the top of them.

"What happened? Let's do a little recap here; you took an unlicensed drug designed to increase your internal temperature—God knows why—and what would have been a harmless little raise to any other person boosted your particular metabolism through the roof and started to burn you up from the inside out. Did you know that your muscles were halfway to calcifying when you staggered in here and that there was enough calcium because of that in your bloodstream to stop your heart? Thank you for that, by the way. I've always loved the thrill of teenagers collapsing in my lab and nearly dying in my arms!" By the end of his tirade, Mr Stark was nearly yelling and Peter dropped his gaze to his hands, both of them stuck with needles leading to bags filled with fluid hanging by his bed. Tears pricked his eyes.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Mr Stark seethed. "You know better than that, Parker. I _know_ your aunt taught you better than that."

"It was stupid, I shouldn't... I knew it was stupid. I did it anyway. I don't...don't know what to say, Mr Stark. I'm sorry," Peter finished, swallowing down the lump in his throat.

His mentor eyed him for a second before blowing out a breath, collapsing back in the chair. He gazed up at the ceiling for a moment before sitting up. "Look at me, kid."

When Peter refused, two fingers found his chin and gently but firmly turned his head up. Mr Stark's gaze was unbearably disappointed but the raw fury seemed to have cooled. " _Look at me_. I know better than anyone how all that peer pressure can get to you. I didn't just barely survive going to MIT at your age without desperately wanting everyone to like me and doing nearly anything I could to please people and make friends. You've got enough on your plate just being a teenager in the 21st-century without all your superheroics going on. Next time someone's trying to get you to do something you don't want to do, just ask yourself—"

"What would Captain America do?" Peter interrupted, unable to resist.

Mr Stark snorted and ran a hand over his head. "Uh, no. God, no. If there was ever anyone more likely to make kids rebel... No, ask yourself—"

"What would Iron Man do?" Peter tried.

"Will you quit interrupting me while I'm trying to make a moral point? And definitely don't ask yourself that because chances are I've done it and that would make me a hypocrite. Ask yourself what would Spider-Man do?" Tony finished gently and the lump came back to Peter's throat.

"Alright?" Mr Stark asked, patting Peter's face. "I know if even just one of your teammates hadn't wanted to take those pills today and someone had tried forcing them, you'd have stood up for them in a heartbeat, kid. That's what you do, that's what _Spider-Man_ does. Just don't forget he's there to look after you as much as everybody else, okay? Sometimes I think you forget that."

"O-Okay, Mr Stark," Peter said again, a little throatily. "I'm sorry."

Mr Stark blew out a breath, looking a little shell-shocked by the whole conversation. He quickly recovered. "Oh, you will be. Your aunt's on her way. She's mad, I feel like I should pre-warn you. We're just lucky your healing factor kicked in before it got too crazy. You might even be able to go to school tomorrow. Too bad your match is cancelled," Mr Stark explained, shrugging.

Peter winced, thinking of Flash and the team. "Is everyone okay?"

"They're great. Your phone hasn't stopped buzzing with updates from their remote study party. Like I said, normal people, a healthy boost. In your case, well... We're just lucky you were here when it all went down."

"So the match—"

"You had an email from your school. The other team is out with norovirus. I guess your friends haven't checked their inboxes yet," his mentor said coolly.

Peter couldn't help himself. He laughed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i literally am already behind on this challenge since i decided to start today lol! i wanted to catch up and post all the chapters together but im too impulsive so here we are! see you in like 18 hours with chaps 3 and 4 :0)
> 
> also i want to interact with fellow irondad chums more, maybe start filling prompts and stuff, so please feel free to meet me over on tumblr @undeerqueen to cry to me about our faves! <3


	3. Taken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shorter chap this time and warning for (an attempt at) some horror! be safe!

"Behold!" a low, malevolent voice comes in his ear. "It is I, the _Vampire!_ "

Ned lets out an evil cackle and bops Peter on the head with his copy of the student newspaper. Peter bats him off and turns, letting his locker door fall shut behind him.

"Dude," he scoffs, grinning widely. He takes the newspaper from Ned, the front page covered by a serious piece by one of the faculty, warning students about the dangers of staying out at night while the Vampire roams the streets.

"Still haven't caught him," Ned is saying as Peter scans the words. "They found someone's kidney in a trash can like four blocks from here. So gross." His best friend's voice lowers conspiratorially. "Can't Spider-Man do something?"

Peter's eyes widen as a couple of students glance their way. "Shh," he hisses, shoving the newspaper back into Ned's hands. A wave of guilt catches him off-guard momentarily; Spider-Man _has_ been trying, but whoever the Vampire is, he is always one step ahead of the vigilante and law enforcement, haunting the shadows and snatching people off the street. So far, seven people have turned up dead, drained of blood and their organs scattered across Queens.

"Spider-Man's not the police, dude," Peter whispers back, a bit apologetically. "I can't track him without access to all the forensics stuff and it's not like I know who he is." _Not that that's gonna stop me from trying_ , he keeps inside.

"Right," Ned says, nodding. In sync, they head down the corridor through the mass of students. "So you ready to go?"

"Oh, right yeah, sorry, man. Early patrol tonight—I won't be over till later."

"What!" They go out through the doors to the school, past waiting parents. "You couldn't have told me that earlier?" Ned complains, trying to keep up with Peter as he starts to rush away.

"Hey, I said I'll be over later! Until this guy's caught, May wants me patrolling strictly during daylight hours," Peter explains, careful his words don't carry. "I'll just be a couple of hours. Remember—don't go out in the dark!" With a clap on Ned's shoulder and an easy grin, he takes the steps two at a time and sprints into the crowd.

 

* * *

 

The sun is already starting to dip below the skyline when Peter lets himself admit that he really needs to get over to Ned's _now_ before May freaks out on him.

He pulls his mask back over his head and stands on the rooftop, ready to leap into the air, fully intent on going to Ned's.

It's just typical, then; _that's_ when the scream rips on the wind, his ears picking it up from several blocks away.

He leaps without thinking, trajectory totally changed, senses pointing him to the darkened alleyway like a target.

When he gets there, a woman is struggling to hold herself up where she's fallen through an open manhole. Spider-Man lands in the alley and sprints to her side, pulling her up and over in one easy movement.

"Hey, are you—" Peter starts, but she's already tearing away from him without so much as a thank you, legs carrying her blindly around the corner onto the quiet street where she disappears.

"Uh, okay. You're welcome," he huffs, scratching his head. Behind him, the manhole cover clinks on the ground. His spider sense whines too late when a hand comes up, slithers under the mask, a sweet-smelling rag pressing over his mouth.

 

* * *

 

"I didn't expect this. Believe me, I'm just as shocked as you are that you've ended up here with me," a quiet voice hums softly as Peter comes to.

He blinks and groans, grinds his forehead into the stiff mattress, and feels a gurney rattle beneath him. His senses are dialled all the way up, but fuzziness presses him down where he lays on his belly. The room is cold, stinks of must and violence. Somewhere, droplets of water are rolling down the wall. Peter can hear every one as they drip onto the stone floor. Over his shoulder, a white light glows down on him, and at his side, tucked in the shadows, is a man.

Peter makes a soft noise of alarm, flinching. The movement should have broken the straps holding him down. Instead the leather stays firm, digging uncomfortably into his flesh. Goosepimples raise on his back and he bites the inside of his cheek to stop his teeth chattering.

"W-What...What d-didjou do to-to me?" he slurs, voice cut up with drugged, breathless panic.

"Just chloroform." The voice is youngish; he's so casual, Peter thinks the man could be _shrugging_ along with his words. "I'm honestly just surprised it worked on you too. And that you even fell into my lap like that. Fate's full of surprises, huh?"

A tiny blade pierces the small of his back. There's a cool sensation—icy shock—then Peter _howls_ when it ignites into flame, the Vampire drawing it up his flesh, carving away skin.

"Calm down." The voice is almost bored. Underneath the horror, Peter imagines an eye roll. "I had to reject everyone else. They weren't fit for purpose. You're going to save lives... _if_ you're as special as I think you are."

Peter squirms and his limbs are like stone weights. His heart hammers. Claustrophobia creeps over him, his breaths hot and frantic where his nose presses into the mattress. Listlessly, he tries to turn his head.

"Please... _Please_ don't," he begs, tears in his voice. Something deep inside sickens with shame at how easily he pleads for his life. Mr Stark has survived Afghanistan, space, Siberia—a thousand terrors worse than anything Peter will ever go through, worse than _this_ —and yet he is already begging, boneless with fear.

"It's okay. I just need some things from you," the voice intones, like Peter is doing him a favour.

The surgical knife presses in _deep_ and Peter screams.

 

* * *

 

When Iron Man bursts through the ceiling of the sewer chamber, he barely spares a glance at the ribbons of intestines draped over the walls, organs of various sizes and description scattered in ceramic bowls around the room, the shapes of bodies overlaid with blankets. He takes in the bloodstains spotting the stone, and shoots the man he finds cowering in the corner with a blast so powerful he's pretty sure it incinerates him on the spot. Underneath the whine of the repulsor, there's a weak groan, the sound of depleted strength struggling out of restraints.

His mask flips open—eyes watering at the stench of salt and copper, the overpowering _reek_ of animal fear—and Tony breathes out one word:

"Kid?"

Something shuffles behind him and he turns, repulsor raised. Peter staggers over to him in a stained, crumbling hospital gown that is falling down at the shoulders. Thoughtlessly, Tony's gauntlets retract. He catches Peter when he collapses with his bare hands, finger tips grazing the jagged line of stitches sewn across the kid's back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok these fills are like some of the worst writing i have ever done...and yet i don't even care because i'm having so much fun doing them?? like tenses? what are those? (i can never decide which i like better for writing, present or past, so have a mix in this frankenstein fic lol) anyway i never write horror and i just freakin wanted to, so here's my attempt :o)
> 
> also i lied i was gonna go one way with this fill then changed my mind and wrote this instead so chap 4 isn't done...BUT you know ur girl already has that major character death (!) fill in the bag so i just gotta write chap 4 tomorrow and post them both...and i have an early finish from work so it should be possible! peace


	4. "Where are you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay. 'posting tomorrow!'...20 days ago...
> 
> LISTEN 
> 
> all i can say is in a cruel twist of fate, i got really sick lol and i could barely plan my lessons let alone contribute to this amazing challenge. so with that being said, i'm sorry haha. but i'm finally catching up! so here's day 4! thank u for all the love so far, i am really sorry it's taken so long. i hope you enjoy!

The thing about being Spider-Man is, when Peter puts the suit on, he becomes a completely different person. As Spider-Man, he can throw himself off of high-rises and fear nothing. He performs Olympic-level somersaults hundreds of feet in the air. He makes witty quips to bad guys and is never lost for words (although sometimes it isn't till later when he gets home and stands in the shower that only then does he think of the _perfect_ comeback for whatever crook NYC decides to put in his path that night). When he's Spider-Man, he wears a multi-million dollar suit designed by none other than Iron Man himself and has a kick-ass AI sidekick on standby that science fiction could only dream about. As Spider-Man, he dives headfirst into danger, protects those who can't protect themselves. When he's out on patrol, he is faceless and forgets about everything but the mission: look out for the little guy. When he's Spider-Man, he doesn't have anxiety or panic attacks.

The thing about being Peter Parker, however, is that he _does_.

He's used to it by now. In fact, when he took a Psych class last year, he was practically a textbook case for anxiety. The childhood trauma of losing his parents coupled with the recent death of his uncle...It'd be weird if he _didn't_ have any kind of lingering mental health issues after going through all that in his fifteen short years of life. So what if Peter Parker's chest gets a little tight every now and again and he has to catch his breath?

When he's Spider-Man he's someone else. Someone who doesn't get panic attacks.

That is, until, he does.

He's just about to turn in for the night when he hears the gunshot. There's a distant scream and right on cue, Karen—who he's managed to program to listen in to police radio—pipes up with, "Shots fired in a side street two blocks over, Peter. Would you like me to plot the fastest route?"

Peter's already flinging himself in the direction of the commotion. "I'm on my way, Karen. Are there any security cameras in the area?"

"Scanning." She pauses for a moment, then street footage opens up in the corner of his HUD. It's from the last minute, a man in all black sprinting down the street and climbing into a waiting car.

"Crap, I can't make it out. Can you clean up the number plate, Karen?" Peter asks even as he slips between two buildings and lets his feet touch down on the asphalt. He's off and running not even a heartbeat later, swerving around a corner. And he comes upon a man sprawled out on the pavement.

He staggers to a stop so suddenly, he actually feels his knee wrench. In the apartments all around people are peering out. They have cell phones up against their ears and with his enhanced hearing he can already hear the sirens a few miles out. If anything, Peter should be swinging on his merry way, going after the man with the gun and doing some real good for the guy collapsed on the sidewalk.

Instead—on auto-pilot—his feet take him to the man's side. He's flat on his back, wheezing heavily. A red stain is spilling out across the breast of his shirt. He's a big guy, balding and coming up on middle-age, and he blinks up at Peter with tired brown eyes. His gaze is so heavy with judgement, Peter almost wants to rip his mask off, like going into a church and taking off a hat.

He doesn't.

There are people shouting and coming out of the apartment buildings ,watching from across the street. Peter crouches by the man's side.

"H-Hey, hey, sir, take it easy. I've got you. Help's on the way," he whispers lamely. The man can't speak. His white shirt is going crimson with blood. He moans and wheezes thinly.

"You should apply pressure, Peter," Karen murmurs gently in his ear.

"R-Right, of course. Sorry, sir. This might hurt a bit." Peter says, quickly thrusting his hand over the neat hole in the guy's chest. He holds his palm down, places the other hand over the top, and feels his gloves go wet with blood.

"You're doing great, Peter," Karen praises softly. "Stay like that. Don't apply anymore pressure. With your enhanced strength, you could do more damage."

The thought of hurting the man makes his arms waver and shake slightly. "I won't, I won't," he gasps.

The man moans and his head tips back a bit, his eyes closing.

"Sir!" Peter calls urgently, accidentally applying just the tiniest bit more pressure. The man grunts and his eyes shoot open. "S-Sorry. God, 'm sorry. Just stay with me, sir. Please. The ambulance is coming. _Hold on._ "

It's no use. Even Peter can tell the guy is losing too much blood too quickly. The man's eyes roll back and no amount of pressure can bring him around.

"Karen," Peter stammers frantically, "w-what do I do?"

"Pulse is fading. I recommend beginning rescue breaths," she instructs calmly.

"Okay. Okay, okay, okay. Just like health class." He pulls his mask up to just below his mouth so his lips are free. He tilts the man's head back and holds his mouth open. He blows a single breath into the man's mouth.

And immediately starts back when something splatters him in the face. He yanks a glove off and swipes two shaking fingers along his cheeks. They come back coated in blood. The man's lung...

"EMTs are arriving, Peter," Karen reports. The wailing of the ambulance pulling up sounds like it's coming from inside Peter's head. Paramedics rush to the floor and one of them pulls him away. Heedless of the blood around his lips, Peter pulls his mask back down. The EMT is saying something. Peter can't hear him.

"He's, uh...You should...Help him," Peter offers haltingly, words spilling out of him in a jumbled mush. With hardly a thought, he springs off from the ground, throws himself onto the nearest rooftop and takes off in a sprint.

He must be miles from the scene of the shooting when he finally has to stop. His knees go out from under him and he hits the roof so hard he thinks he cracks the concrete, vision going dark and sparkling. Karen is saying something in his ear but he can barely hear her.

"Peter...you are...severe...confirm...Mr Stark!" is all he makes out. Then a video display is opening up on his HUD and it startles him so badly he falls backwards on his ass, panting on the gravel.

"Kid, your vitals are way off, what's going on?" Mr Stark asks urgently, the words cutting through the ringing in his head. "Where are you?"

He shakes and shakes, can't even answer. His jaw is locked tight, won't even open to let air in and he's going dizzy from the lack of oxygen.

Mr Stark's face is all business, so serious and so damn heroic Peter wants to cry. "I'm suiting up, kid, be there in ten. Stay on the line, okay?"

By the time he hears the repulsors, Peter's collapsed onto his side, shuddering on the rooftop. His hands are tucked into his armpits and he seizes rhythmically.

Mr Stark steps out of the suit and rushes to his side. "Okay, kid, let me see. What are we dealing with?" Peter doesn't know if it's just where he's shaking and Tony's hands are on him, or if Tony's hands are shaking too.

Suddenly, urgently, Mr Stark's hands are pawing at his stomach and arms, hard enough to bruise. He yanks Peter's mask off and by the light of the Iron Man suit standing sentry, Peter sees him go white at the sight of blood around his lips. " _Shit,_ kid, you're bleeding. Stand by." Tony goes to make a call but Peter summons the strength to grab his arm.

"'S okay. Not mine," he whispers. The cold night air is hitting his face and it brings Peter somewhat back to Earth. He swipes an arm along his mouth then sees his gloves are still covered with blood. In a sudden burst of adrenaline, he shoots off the ground, startling Mr Stark back, and tumbles onto his knees a few feet away, vomiting relentlessly.

There's a hand on his back straightaway. "Alright, you're okay, calm down," Mr Stark is saying. Peter's shaking his head before he's even finished throwing up.

"I c-can't, I can't stop it," Peter moans. Dimly, he can feel tears spilling down his cheeks. He goes sideways again but this time Mr Stark is gathering him into his arms.

"Okay. Okay, kid. Breathe with me. C'mon. You're okay. That's it," his mentor says soothingly.

Peter is dimly aware that he should be embarrassed. He's in his suit, he's been on patrol, he's supposed to be _Spider-Man._ But even like this, he can't hide who he is, _damaged_ Peter Parker, sobbing in his mentor's arms like a child.

It's a small comfort that Tony doesn't seem to mind. He's got one hand resting heavily on Peter's head, holding him in place against his shoulder, and the weight of his palm is solid, grounding. "You don't have to talk about it," Tony is saying. "I got you."

"I couldn't save him," Peter breathes, words hitching, and he doesn't know if he is talking about the man from tonight or his uncle.

"But you _tried,_ " Mr Stark retorts firmly. "Sometimes that has to be enough, kid, and trust me I know how damn unfair that is."

Peter blinks up at his mentor, fat teardrops tumbling out of both eyes at the same time. Somewhere small beneath the grief and the pain, he wonders at the way Tony's own eyes seem to soften at the corners.

"The bad things still happen," Peter says, sniffing, rubbing his swollen, damp cheeks with his hand. From out of his pocket, Tony produces a handkerchief and gives it to him. Peter wipes his cheek and blanches at the blood that coats the silk. Tony taps two fingers under his chin and he looks up again, world wobbling around him.

"Bad things always happen, kid," his mentor hums, not unkindly. "But the fact that you care enough to do what you do...Never, _ever_ think that any of it is on you. Sometimes bad things just happen and it's nobody's fault  but the person that pulled the trigger. _Especially_ not the person that tried to help. You feel me?"

Shakily, Peter nods. The worst of the panic attack has passed, and though Peter is still shivering, the embarrassment is becoming more prevalent, a swarming plague that cloaks him and burrows under the skin. He pushes back from Mr Stark and clambers to his feet, feeling small and ashamed, nothing like the hero he's supposed to be.

"Thank you, Mr Stark," he mumbles, not looking his mentor in the eyes. "'M sorry for—"

Tony holds up a hand. "Nuh-uh," he interrupts, standing himself and gripping Peter's shoulder, "never thank nor apologise to me for this, kid. Happy to help." And Peter can see the honesty shining in Mr Stark's eyes. It brings a lump to his throat.

He nods again, head still stuffy, face damp, but feeling lighter. The man from tonight will haunt him, as will everyone he tries and fails to help, as will the one person he already failed. But maybe, after tonight, neither Spider-Man nor Peter Parker will have to face it alone anymore.


	5. Major character death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yikes. warnings for major character death. this is an au set in the not-too-distant future.

The call comes in at 03:43am and lasts exactly 58 seconds. In that time, Tony shoots out of bed, throws a long grey coat over his pyjamas and shucks on his sneakers without socks. Though the canvas shoes are designer and well worn, the scratch of the material against the cool skin of his feet is an odd distraction as he summons his fastest car to the front of the mansion and Pepper springs out of bed beside him.

She is vibrating with alarm. "Tony, what's going on?" her tone wary—because nothing good ever comes of middle-of-the-night phone calls. The words are far away beneath the pounding of his heart, buried under the creases of his face.

"It's Pete. Pete, Pep... _Shit!_ " His voice fails him and he turns away to lean fully on Pepper's pristine dressing table. His hands go clammy where they grip the wooden sides. Air heaves out of him in a way it hasn't done for years, the desperate gasps loud and out of place against the clean lines and order of their bedroom. Tony closes his eyes when a droplet of water lands on the stunning silver hand mirror Peter gifted his adoptive mother with a few years ago.

Pepper is behind him at once, a hand at her mouth. "What is it? Tony, you're scaring me. What about Peter?" She tugs him to face her and he opens his eyes. Her face is older now, but no less radiant than the day he first laid eyes on her when she was Virginia Potts, agency PA assigned to the wayward playboy genius he had been in his younger days. She has had subtle cosmetic work done—they both have—but age and two rambunctious children are bound to take their toll in the simple, glorious way of a life well spent.

He is about to destroy that. The retired inventor drinks in the sharp blue of her eyes, piercing with question, and imprints it in his memory. They will no longer look like this again, unmarred by grief, unhaunted by tragedy.

"You might want to sit down," Tony begins, voice low, but makes no move to seat himself or move her. They stay standing, clutching each other, moonlight trickling between the parted curtains, lighting the dust motes twinkling in the still air. "Peter's had a car accident. He—" His voice wavers when Pepper's face starts to collapse in horror. He grips her slightly tighter, focusing himself as much as her.

"I don't have all the details yet but they want me to come down. He's...It's bad, Pep, and he needs someone...someone to be with him when—"

Pepper's gasp of horror is like a gunshot and she sinks in his arms, almost going to her knees. He grabs her and pulls her up, and does not know who is shaking more.

"No. No, please, Tony, no, no, please, no. _Tony_ ," she murmurs over and over, one of her hands winding into her own hair, gripping the scalp.

He kisses the top of her head, bites back tears. He has to be strong, for Peter and for Pepper.

"I've got to go—"

"I'm going too."

"No."

She smacks against his chest with both her fists, suddenly boiling with fury, eyes alight like all those years ago with the Mandarin and Killian's failed experiment.

"You can't—!" She starts to struggle and Tony holds her still.

"He doesn't want you there, honey," he says gently and is ready for her weight when she collapses again. "He said he just wanted me. You and Morgan, he wants you to remember him like...like he was." His voice goes to a whisper on the last few words, the thought of his kid mangled and bleeding in a wreck down a darkened side road somewhere. A despicable, wretched part of him tucked deep in the pits of his soul almost wishes Peter doesn't want _him_ there either, that he could be spared the sight of his adoptive son in his last moments.

He would revisit that part of him later, drown it in aged whiskeys and fiery bourbons. For the moment, his kid needs him. That is enough.

"God, Morgan," Pepper sobs, sniffing a wet breath. "What am I going to tell her?"

It is a fresh cracking of grief, thinking of his daughter, who worships the ground her older brother walks on. "That Peter loves her very much," he whispers again, blinking back tears.

His watch flashes. The car is ready outside.

"I have to go. I love you," Tony breathes, hugging her tightly.

"I love you too. T-Tell Peter I love him, please tell him, Tony," Pepper pleads and the side of his neck goes damp with her tears.

"I will." He presses a kiss to her head, inhales with his nose pressed to her hair. He drinks in the faint notes of Pepper's perfume still lingering from the day before, the sunny scent of her coconut shampoo. It calms him, steels him. Then, with the last strength of a drowning man struggling for shore, he shoves himself away before doubt and fear can stop him. He is out of the bedroom like a shot, past Morgan's room—quiet and still—with a fresh wash of tears in his eyes. Tony takes the marble stairs two at a time, sneakers slapping the stone. FRIDAY opens the front door and says nothing and then he is gone.

 

* * *

 

Tony sets the car on auto-pilot. It gives him too much time to think but like this—mind reeling and whirling, stomach clenching and hands shaking—he doesn't trust himself behind the wheel.

He doesn't see the darkened trees, the empty black road stretched out before him. Instead, Tony cartwheels through memories in his head, vertigo leaving him breathless as his mind coughs up thoughts of his kid through the years. The most overwhelming feeling, tied up with the agony, is _bitterness_. That Peter could survive all he has, could come back from being dusted by Thanos all those years ago and being spat back up by the Soul Stone...All that he has done and achieved, everyone he's saved and helped and loved—Tony, most of all—and he's taken out by a _car crash_ before the age of 30.

It's appalling. Feels criminal, even.

Tony's nostrils flare as spiralling rage thunders in him. He wishes for a second he was wearing the Infinity Gauntlet again, wants to tear strips out of the fabric of reality, rip the universe apart, for it to even think of harming his son.

A warning flashes on his wristwatch. If he doesn't lower his blood pressure, he's in danger of another heart attack.

Eyes closing, he breathes deeply and pushes the rage down. There will be time for that. The phone call had been so quick and the EMT hadn't gone into much detail apart from gently breaking the horrific news that Peter was trapped and dying and couldn't be freed. His stomach goes hot and churns, mouth flooding with saliva, to think of all the implications of the EMT's words.

Would Peter be horrifically mangled? Would the kid even know him? Would Tony be able to stroke his hair, hold his hand when he dies? The grief pushes up again, heavy and unfathomable, a hulking _bleakness_ that clings to every fibre of his being.

Tony returns his gaze to the window, and ignores the grey hair and the diamond tears sparkling on his cheeks.

 

* * *

 

It seems like forever that he's been travelling to Peter's side, a special kind of purgatory; racing to be with his dying child on a perpetually darkened road. And yet, when he arrives, the emergency lights beaming and dancing off the shape of the wreck, Tony wants nothing more than to turn back.

The journey was no more than half an hour— _so close to home,_ his mind cries, stunned—but the urgency and his terror suspended time. Now that he's here, minutes snap back to normal. Tony can see people in uniforms moving in the distance. On the road, huge, scorching brake marks tarnish the asphalt.

As the car pulls up, Tony gapes to see how many emergency vehicles have attended a two-car collision. The volume of vehicles is comforting and staggering—so many people have tried to free his kid and yet they all have failed.

The automatic car stops before the police barrier and Tony springs out before it fully rolls to a halt. A police officer is in front of him, immediately ushering him away.

"Excuse me, sir, but the road is closed. You'll need to—"

"That's my kid in there!" He has two hands on the officer before he can comprehend himself, the man backing away but Tony following. In the chrome plating on his car, he sees an aging unhinged man, frothing with rage, wild with grief.

"Where is he?!" he roars and a fireman and a paramedic are running towards him.

"Woah, woah!" the fireman says as he approaches. Tony has to let go of the police officer when the barrier gets in the way and the cop immediately draws a gun.

"Everyone, calm down!" the paramedic orders, her voice young but commanding. Tony's chest heaves. "This is Mr Stark, the patient's father. Let him through."

The police officer immediately sheathes his weapon and raises the police tape for Tony to step under. As he ducks out, the cop pats his shoulder consolingly. "Didn't recognise you, sir," he says. "I'm sorry for your loss."

The glare Tony shoots him has the man backing away with a placating hand outstretched.

"Come with us, sir," the fireman says softly. Together, they approach the wreckage. It's hard to tell which parts of the twisted metal come from which vehicle. One thing is clear as the upended rear of the truck sprawls across the road—the fancy lightweight fibreglass sports car Peter favoured stood no chance against the 44-ton LGV.

The desire to have reinforced all of Peter's cars whether the kid wanted it or not is cloying and bitter at the back of Tony's throat. He holds it down for fear of screaming aloud. He tunes in when he realises the fireman and paramedic are explaining what happened.

"...truck driver has been arrested on drink-driving charges—" Tony files that away, cold tendrils locking it down deep inside him "—As you can probably tell, it was a very high-energy impact. Your son's injuries...Well, as we explained on the phone, sir, there is no way to extract him. I'm so sorry."

"What about the Iron Legion, my suits?" Tony theorises, not taking his eyes off the wreckage, mind whirring through all the possibilities. "If they could stabilise the wreck, we could get him out."

"Mr Stark," the paramedic says patiently, slowing her footsteps, "I don't want to upset you by going into too much detail." Her young eyes are so sorrowful, so sympathetic that they make Tony's eyes sting as he stops to face her. "It's not the stability of the wreckage that is the problem. Peter's body...There isn't anything we can do. We are keeping him comfortable. I just don't want you to give yourself false hope."

Tony can't speak for a moment. When he does, it's gruff and low. "Take me to him."

"He's just round the corner there," the fireman states, gesturing to the opposite side of the vehicle hidden from view. "We really are very sorry for your loss, Mr Stark. Your kid is a hero. You both are."

They step away quietly and Tony takes five seconds to inhale.

Fear grips him. The chill of the night air is biting. _I can't do this_.

His left arm throbs and he holds it, biting his tongue. His legs in his silk pyjama pants shake on the spot, stomach aching.

Peter's wide smile flashes in his mind, his brown curls, his everlastingly-boyish face. He's taller now, bulkier, truly a young man. And yet Tony doesn't think he'll ever stop seeing the kid from Queens when he looks at him, all of 15, stepping out to confront the darkness of New York City's seedy underbelly, simply because he could help and because it was the right thing to do.

The right thing for Tony to do now is to be with his dying son.

_He needs you._ He could never abandon his kid when he needs him. Tony blows out the breath.

_Go._

He steps around to where the undercarriage of the truck is sticking out where it lays on its side. There are a cluster of people gathered around one small area a few metres from the overturned cab. Peter's beautiful Lamborghini—he had fallen in love with those cars when he came back from Italy—is woven into the truck chassis, crumpled metal intricately tied together in a fatal, catastrophic knot. Hanging out from the wreckage where the medics are gathered around him is his 27-year-old adopted son.

The air goes out of Tony and then his feet in those broken-in sneakers have never moved so fast.

"Pete— _Peter!_ " he exclaims breathlessly, collapsing between the medics, who startle and move aside.

The boy— _young man,_ Tony corrects in his head like he always has to—lifts his dusty brown head up, blood and dirt sketching his face. His glassy eyes go wide and light up. His mouth creaks in a smile.

One shaking hand reaches out from the metal. It's pale beneath all the blood. "You came," Peter breathes softly.

"Of course I did, kid. It's okay, I'm here now, it's okay. You're okay," he babbles, one hand grabbing Peter's cold one, the other touching all over the kid's face, petting his temple, smoothing his cheek, stroking back his hair. "What did you get yourself into this time, huh?" he murmurs, aghast at the way Peter hangs from the metal.

One by one, the handful of medics stand. One of them touches Tony's shoulder. He barely cranes his head, eyes unable to tear away from his son.

"He's stable for now, Mr Stark," the paramedic offers quietly. A portable IV drip is set up and a line runs into Peter's exposed hand. "Just shout if either of you need anything. You have all the time in the world."

They don't. Tony can see that in the way Peter shudders for air, hear it in his small, scraping breaths breaking on the breeze.

The paramedic touches Tony's shoulder again and withdraws. Peter smiles up at him cheekily.

"T-Typical. Iron Man sh-shows up and suddenly it's...it's like I'm not even here."

It's a struggle to shrug into their usual banter when Peter is so pale and Tony can see blood lining the inside of the kid's smile.

But this is what Peter wanted him here for, so he tries all the same. He strokes Peter's hair back some more, drinks in the way the boy leans into the touch. "Sorry, Underoos. Guess Spider-Man just doesn't sell papers like he used to."

Right after May's unexpected death and the adoption when Peter was 17, he had gone public with his superhero identity and had fought alongside his surrogate father in many battles. He had only given up the mantle two years ago when he had taken over Stark Industries as CEO and begun saving the world in new ways outside of spandex suits and latex webs.

"Fame is a fickle mistress," Peter replies, offering one of Tony's old sayings back to him.

"You never liked the limelight," Tony retorts.

Peter's smile turns rueful. "True." His head drops slightly and Tony takes a moment to survey his limp form.

Peter is jammed between the mangled amalgamation of what looks to be a shattered windscreen and truck wheels. His legs and lower body are buried somewhere hidden from view, only his upper chest, head and one arm poking out from the wreckage. What would have been an immaculate designer suit is torn to ribbons and hanging off Peter's limp body. Some gauze has been glued to the side of Peter's head and is darkening slowly with blood, while two twin streaks ooze out from what looks to be a nasty broken nose. Tiny pieces of glass have stamped cuts into the rings of bruises lining the kid's skin and his eyes are tired and swollen.

The kid breathes haltingly for a second, woozy little ' _hah_ s' of pain escaping his pressed-together lips.

"Bud, you alright?" Tony frowns, sitting up ram-rod straight on the ground, clutching Peter's hand.

"Just...painful." On the 'p', he blows out some of the blood that's been gathering on his lips. Tony can't tell if it's from the broken nose or some other sinister injury buried in the kid's internal organs.

"Status report, Spider-Man," he orders firmly, heart hammering.

Peter blinks up at him slowly. "I don't...don't think you wanna hear it, Boss." It's the nickname Peter has used for him in the field for almost ten years now, when their bond outgrew 'Mr Stark' but 'Dad' could be dangerous, used against them. Tony hasn't heard it since Spider-Man retired and it spears him suddenly that he won't ever again.

" _Report_ ," he says simply, and if he sounds a little desperate, Peter doesn't comment.

"Got some badly broken ribs. They're pretty sure there's, uh, internal lacerations...Um, a concussion. _I'm_ pretty sure this arm's broken," Peter nods in the direction of his pinned arm, trapped somewhere in the metal. "What else? Oh, there's a steel beam cutting me in half and I can't feel my legs, Dad."

Tony's stomach swoops. "Okay, okay. Alright. And your abilities? What are they doing?"

Peter shakes his head dismally. "All they were good for is stopping me from dying instantly. They told you, right? That they can't get me out?" Peter murmurs.

Tony's teeth grit together. "It was implied. But you can hang on, kid. I'm gonna think of something."

"I..." Peter's eyes well suddenly, his voice hitching, "I don't think I can, Dad."

His heart tears. " _You have to._ "

"Dad, I—" Peter cuts himself off, retching, blood spilling out of his lips and down his chin like vines. He chokes and coughs and Tony can hardly bear to watch. His hand goes clammy where it squeezes Peter as his other scrabbles in his pocket for a handkerchief. He presses the white silk to Peter's chin, lets the kid hack and gag onto it, silk going sodden with scarlet.

"It's okay, it's okay, kid," he murmurs over and over, even though Tony's heart is galloping in his chest, hand shaking at Peter's chin. "Jesus, Pete," he gasps when it appears to be over, Peter's head dipping over the ground, blood still trickling from his lips. Tony's hand is warm and wringing with blood.

"I'm sorry," Peter murmurs thickly, voice strained and thin.

Tony lets the rag drop, wipes the blood off on his coat. His free hand finds Peter's dusty curls, stroking them back like he has so many times in the last ten years.

"Hey, no apologies—"

"N-No, no, I—" Peter shakes his head. Some of the metal groans. The kid's eyes squeeze shut. " _Shit_ ," he hisses. His eyes open again and the naked pain shadowing the corners of Peter's deep brown irises leaves Tony breathless.

"I'm sorry I'm leaving you," he mutters, two twin droplets spilling out of his eyes. He sobs out a breath and it's all Tony can do not to break down with him.

"Kid, don't—"

"Somehow it's kind of...kind of better?" Peter continues, gasping for air. "I lost...lost everyone...I don't...don't think I'd could handle it if I...if I lost you too."

The thought makes Tony go cold. "Don't say that, kid. Don't say that to me. This isn't _better_."

Peter blinks and his face relaxes into a smile, tears glistening on his cheeks. "You're just jealous that I'm basically one with...with metal now. How...does it feel, Iron Man?" he teases softly.

"Like I'd trade places with you in a second," Tony replies seriously, swallowing the lump in his throat.

"Y-You, you can't do that. You gotta look after Morgan for me. And Pepper too." The pain seems to dissolve in Peter's eyes, a layer of steely flint coming down at the thought of leaving his family behind. His voice is strong, though it shakes, "You need to tell them that I—"

"I will, kid. You know I will. And they know. Of course they know." He can't bear to listen to the goodbye speech, but his promise to Pepper rings in his mind like an alarm. "Pepper loves you, but you knew that already. Morgan too."

Peter nods gingerly, eyes going warm.

Tony sniffs, needing to get the words out. "I love you too, kid." _So much_. He says them with a small smile, but has to scrub a hand down his face when the tears leak out.

Peter's lips twist, doe brown eyes shining, and he reaches up to cradle the side of Tony's face. "I knew that already too," he says, smiling bravely. "I love you too, Dad. Don't be...Don't be too sad when...Okay?"

Tony snorts bitterly, leans into the touch. "No promises."

There's nothing to say to that. Peter swallows and groans a little. "Oh, uh, Morgan's birthday present," he says suddenly. "It's...I hid it in my apartment. The safe behind the mirror. Karen will give you...give you the code."

The thought of the extravagant birthday party planned for Tony's youngest next week hits him like a punch to the gut. "What did you get her?" he croaks out.

"Just a...necklace. Her b-birthstone. I don't...know what you get...11-year-olds," Peter huffs out. The strength he found is deserting him. He gags on a breath.

"She'll love it," Tony babbles mindlessly, hand stroking back the kid's hair more firmly, trying to keep Peter with him.

Peter's gaze wavers and Tony can see the dark creeping in by the way his neck struggles to hold up his head.

"Pete..."

Peter groans, head dropping, his eyes rolling up. Blood splashes on the ground from between his parted lips.

"Jesus Christ, someone get over here!" Tony screams, taking Peter's face between his hands. "Pete, Pete, look at me. Kid, don't go. Just look at me, _look at me,_ alright?!"

Peter's gaze is soft-lidded. The corners of his lips are blue beneath the dripping red.

A medic appears at Tony's side, wheeling an oxygen tank. "Okay, Mr Stark, it's okay. Peter, can you hear me?" She shines a light into Peter's dazed eyes. Tony watches the pupils stubbornly refuse to contract. As best she can, the medic presses a stethoscope to Peter's chest and listens. She conducts a few more exams—Tony holding Peter's hand all the while—before leaning back on her haunches.

Peter shifts restlessly, groaning and spitting blood.

"I really recommend the oxygen mask now, Peter," the medic offers gently.

"No." Peter hisses, coughing and struggling in his metal prison. He lets out a whimper of pain that cracks Tony's heart down the middle.

"Kid—" he tries, voice breaking.

"I don't...don't want it," he wheezes, shaking his head combatively.

The medic leans in to Tony conspiratorially. "It's the oxygen deprivation. It's impairing his decision-making."

"Yeah, I see that," he bites out, some of his earlier madness flaring to life. The medic shifts uncomfortably and the engineer swallows down his guilt. He lowers his voice to a whisper, every word tight and controlled. "How long does he have?"

"With the mask, maybe an hour or so. Without it..." She lets her voice trail off. "He's suffocating, Mr Stark. It might buy him some time."

Tony nods, looking away. He sniffs and scrubs a hand down his wet face. "Kid," he says gruffly, taking Peter's cheeks between his hands. The kid blinks up at him blearily. "You gotta put the mask on, okay? It's a couple of hours till morning. Take in the sunrise with me, huh? Just like we used to in New York City when you were a snot-nosed teenager running around in pyjamas," Tony pleads, smiling even as the tears spill out. He fastens the oxygen mask over Peter's face, the medic wordlessly unscrewing the valve beside him.

Peter holds his gaze for a moment, clarity flickering in his eyes. The oxygen mask fogs and clears twice. "Okay, Dad," he replies at last, voice low and muffled. "Like old times."

Relief, however temporary, warms Tony. He pats Peter's cheek. "Atta boy."

He settles back against the cold metal, taking Peter's hand. It's a couple of hours till dawn. He's got a lot to say until then. He opens his mouth to speak.

"Hey, kid, did I ever tell you about when..."

 

* * *

 

By the time the sun starts to rise, Peter is barely conscious. Lost in his delirium, he refuses the oxygen mask and his breaths have gone thin. They rattle softly, like any one could be the last. Tears on his cheeks, Tony settles back against the metal again, one hand coming up to smooth Peter's hair back next to him.

"How about that, kid? Sun's up," he whispers, turning his head to press a gentle kiss to Peter's crown. He blinks in shock when Peter shifts and groans, his eyes peeling open. The kid drinks in the brightening sunlight, low orange glow washing away the sickliness of his pallor, softening the tracks of red. Peter's eyes go clear and a smile twitches at the corners of his lips where blood is dripping out.

"It...It's _beautiful,_ " he whispers, seeing through the sky. His eyes slide over to Tony, unfocused but more radiant than Tony has ever seen. It's like he's lit up from the inside, warm glow settling over him. He can only stare at his son in awe. "Can you...Can you see it, Dad?"

Tony doesn't take his gaze off his boy. "I see it, kid."

Without a word, Peter's head drops onto his shoulder. Tony holds him there and doesn't move, silently choking on his sobs, staring out at the dawn until the breaths stop tickling his ear.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: i wrote a fic like ten years ago when i was 15 with almost the exact same concept which u can still find on ff.net. it was for the ncis fandom back when tony and gibbs' father-son relationship was my jam. this is based off of the movie 'signs'. i only saw that film once when i was little but the scene of the woman dying in the car accident and her husband going to talk to her has stuck with me ever since and for this prompt i knew i wanted to do an updated, tony-and-peter take on it. hope you liked! or if not, please scream at me down below!


	6. Torture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for major character death! (but not really, you'll see what i mean at the end.) set between homecoming and infinity war.

He's dreaming of Afghanistan.

It's not unusual—far from it. The arid desert where he was blown up and the hot cave where he was cut open and tethered to a car battery used to feature fairly regularly in his night-time theatre. As would be expected. Granted, these nightmares are less common now; they've been all but replaced by visions of a nuke igniting in space, of a galactic army heading for earth, of the Avengers' dying, of his parents' murder and Steve driving a shield into his heart, and—maybe worst of all—Pepper falling to her death.

Still, the desert likes to come back to him sometimes. It's his origin story—literally _—_ and the occasional nightmare about it when things are quiet is almost comforting in a disturbing way.

So Afghanistan.

He starts off in the truck as always. His seat bounces wildly beneath him as they traverse the dirt road. He can taste the hot, stale air in his mouth, a burning contrast to the chilled whiskey cradled in his palm. It's so cold his left arm aches with it. He's sat in silence with the soldiers who are too starstruck to speak.

It always makes Tony's heart twang to think of them. Some days, they haunt him as much as Yinsen, even though their faces get blurrier with every dream, every new horror that replaces them. There's a innocence to them, though, despite being so far from home, fighting an ungodly war. These are the people Tony wanted to protect and in a minute they're going to be red smudges on the sand, murdered by his weapons.

He braces himself for what's going to come, laughs along with the Airmen in the front. He turns to the kid on his left who's endearingly raised a hand.

And he feels ice freeze in his veins. Shock hits him like a fist.

Because it's not the young Airman from his memories sat next to him. It's Peter Parker, all of fifteen and inexplicably in uniform, holding a weapon and gazing up at him like he's hung the moon. Like he's given him a custom suit worth millions of dollars so he can play at being a vigilante.

"Kid?" he hears himself say, suddenly breathless. "Peter...What the hell?"

Peter's doe eyes get all wide beneath the too-big helmet that keeps tipping backwards and forwards on his head. His mouth goes slack with wonder.

"Oh wow, sir, I-I can't believe you know my name! I'm sucha huge fan of yours, Mr Stark, you don't even know, it was your weapons that made me wanna join up, I just think they're so cool," he says, words tripping over the grin splitting his face.

Wrong. Wrong wrong wrong. Peter _hates_ weapons. He hates most violence in all its forms, except the restraining, self-defence kind. He's the kind of kid who would rather walk into fire to save a bad guy than let him die. And he has a history with guns, Tony knows. There's no way in hell this is his Peter.

"What are you doing here?" Tony asks incredulously, steamrolling over Peter's breathless exaltations.

"I'm here because of you, Mr Stark," the kid replies, eyes twinkling. "I just wanted to be like you." The words chill Tony to the bone.

Before he can reply, the truck in front blows up. It still surprises him even though he knows it's coming. Tony always feels it like a kick in the chest. He's moving before he even thinks, grabbing Peter's arm and tucking him into his side. Outside, bullets hit the truck, the whistle of bombs screeching in his ears. Smoke and dust billows and Tony can still smell burnt flesh after all this time, like cooked meat, filling his lungs.

"Let me go, Mr Stark!" Peter demands, thrashing, sounding so young even as he reaches for the machine gun. "I gotta help!"

Tony grips him tighter. "No! You stay with me!" he commands loudly above the chaos, heart pounding in his chest. Somehow, Peter gets a hold of the door and they spill out onto the sand. The kid scrabbles away faster than Tony can catch him. Tony writhes in the dirt, reaching after him as Peter joins the firefight. He thinks he screams Peter's name when he disappears in a flash that bathes Tony's world in white.

 

* * *

 

It's a heartbeat, half a second at most.

He doesn't even have to blink and the cave snaps to reality around him. The air is cloying, heavy and earthy, and there's a tang of metal on his tongue. Rocks crunch beneath his feet.

His feet. He's standing, Tony realises abruptly. His hands go straight to his chest. As smooth and unblemished as before Afghanistan and as it has been since the surgery to remove the shrapnel.

Why is he standing? He's never standing. He always wakes up strapped to the car battery, Yinsen leaning over him. But this time, he _is_ Yinsen.

There's someone else, someone else on the table, he just knows. Sure enough, he turns around and there's some other poor bastard prone on the cot, wires trailing from the centre of their chest. The car battery whirs away, a constant buzzing like an insect. Tony feels himself lurch and stumble to the bed. It's always him who wakes up on the bed in such breathtaking pain and so scared. It's never been this way round before, with him watching someone else being kept alive.

What can he do but try and help?

He reaches the figure and gasps so loudly it breaks the dream for a second and he wonders if he gasped aloud.

It's Peter. _God_ , Peter.

He's completely still on the table, skin so white it's a soft blue at the edges. His face is scratched and scraped. His hands are motionless at his sides. He's not wearing a shirt and the pants he wears are the joggers from his Spider-Man adventures before Tony got to him. He looks so painfully young and shockingly injured. Swathes of bandages wrap his chest in white and peeking out from their centre is the electromagnet, before the first arc reactor. It looks rusty and poisonous, wide and such an enormous blight on Peter's small chest, Tony wonders how he'll ever be able to breathe properly again, his lungs must be so compromised.

Maybe he won't. He's so still Tony thinks he might already be gone. His shoulders hitch as he reaches out with two shaking fingers. He presses them to Peter's neck but before he can feel a pulse, Peter opens his eyes.

It's not a startling moment; he does it very slowly and almost carefully, his eyes blinking with disorientation. But Tony jumps all the same and grabs for the kid's hand to anchor him.

"Hey, kid, hey. It's me, just me. Settle down," he says, watching Peter's eyes fall on him and go soft with trust. In the way of dreams, he knows he's looking at a Peter that knows him. This isn't the kid from the van who was dressed up playing soldiers, saying all the wrong things in the right way. This is his Peter. Queens' very own friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man. The kid he's been mentoring for a year, who's got so much talent and promise, who he worries for so much he thinks it might drive him crazy sometimes. And he's badly hurt and pale under his hands and Tony feels so helpless, it's almost unbearable. He half wants to stamp his feet to shake off some of the intense heartbreak he's feeling.

He doesn't. He stays very still and let's Peter take in the cave.

"Where..." Peter breathes, his voice so quiet it's almost a whisper. He's too weak to summon anything louder. "Where are we?"

"Afghanistan," Tony replies simply, squeezing his hand from where he's leaning over him.

Peter's eyes get big then narrow. "What? Why? I can't be here, I got...school. And May! What's going on? Was there a mission?"

"Yeah, kid. There was a mission," he lies gently. "Don't worry about it now." He's not sure Peter can take the stress.

Peter frowns but seems to let it go. The unnatural whirring from his chest is clearly bothering him. He's squinting and lifts his head slightly to get a better view, free hand coming up to scrape against the bandages of his chest curiously. Before he can get a true look, Tony places a hand on his forehead and firmly holds his head against the pillow.

"W-What was that? Mr Stark? OhmyGod! Was that...? I don't, u-uh...? Was that a..? Oh God, what happened, I, I—"

"Shh," Tony murmurs, looking very intently into the kid's eyes. They're wet at the corners and he looks so frightened it's making Tony's own heart throb, his own eyes watering a bit. "Don't look at that," he orders. "Just look at me. Keep looking at me, kid, that's it. I promise you I'll take care of this. You're gonna be okay. Do you trust me?"

Peter still looks terrified but he nods beneath Tony's palm and the older man smoothes the kid's hair back comfortingly. He can hear Peter's breaths now, grating and painful. He's bathed in cold sweat; Tony's hand is getting clammy. Blood starts to drip from his nose, but Peter doesn't seem to realise, staring determinedly up at the cave ceiling.

Tony doesn't know what to do. He keeps stroking the kid's forehead, pushing his hair back with the wide scope of his palm.

The silence in the cave is too loud. Peter's too quiet. Tony strokes his hair back some more, drawing Peter's gaze. "We'll figure this out," he continues. "Just hang on—"

There's a huge bang behind him, the door crashing open. Peter flinches, the movement making him gasp with pain and Tony's instantly in front of the cot, hands gripping behind him, shielding Peter as insurgents flood the room. They shove him aside and he's shouting and screaming filth at them, spitting on them, making himself a target, anything to draw them away from Peter.

It's not working.

A heavy boot comes down on Tony's back and holds him there. He can't move. Why can't he move? He's sparred and even fought Captain America, been trained by two of SHIELD's best assassins in hand-to-hand combat. It should be nothing to free himself. But he can't, can't get up. He struggles, breaths panicked and quick, limbs numb. He stares out in horror as one of the terrorists scoops Peter into his arms, the kid crying out in pain. The cables connecting him to the battery are torn off and Peter lets out a guttural scream. It's the strongest sound Tony's heard him make in the cave, soaked in pain and fear.

" _No!_ " Tony screams, trying to reach for the kid. The insurgents bark words at each other and march out of the room, Peter with them.

"Take me, you bastards, take me!" Tony rages. They don't respond, just carry Peter away. Tony's chest is tight. He needs to get free. He can't move he can't move he can't move!

"Peter!" he calls out, writhing.

"Mr Stark!" the kid cries back, his voice disappearing into the cave. The door slams shut behind them and Tony springs to his feet. He doesn't know where the terrorist that was holding him went but the weight is gone and he's free. He rushes the door and bangs hard against it, desperately tugging at the handle, fingers scraping on metal.

"PETER!" he screams again.

Silence.

"ShitshitshitSHIT!" He kicks the door so hard, the dream wavers, a leg twitching beneath covers in real life. But too easily he slumps to his knees back in the dust of the cave.

He doesn't know how much time the dream gives him. Tony does know his chest is heaving and that he doesn't dare to admit to himself how close to tears he feels. But suddenly he's sent sprawling in the dark as the door at his back is thrown open. Tony's mind reels, unable to keep up.

The terrorists dump Peter in the dirt at his feet, scampering away before he can chase them down.

He doesn't try to. The open door is of no consequence. He rolls Peter onto his back, lifts him to rest his shoulders on his knees, cradles his head in the juncture of his elbow.

God, they've broken him.

His face is purple and swollen, eyes puffed into slits. Blood has dried in thick bands trailing from his nose and mouth, both damp with fresh scarlet in the nostrils and at the corners of his lips. His hair is wet; he's obviously been waterboarded and the new car battery they given him stutters inefficiently.

The kid moans lightly in delirium, peeling his eyes as far open as he can. He blinks up at his mentor and, when he realises who's holding him, God help him, he smiles.

"Y-You're okay," he whispers in awe. "T-They said if I didn't tell them about I-Iron Man, they'd come back for you." He takes a staggering breath. Tony lifts him slightly as if that will help.

"Shh, hey—" Tony tries but Peter shakes his head, his eyes suddenly fearful.

"Mr Stark, you g-gotta know, I didn't, didn't tell them anything, Mr Stark," he whispers urgently. "I didn't—"

"Shh. I know, kid. Stand down. You did good. Shoulda been me," he adds more to himself.

A weak hand flops against his chest. "N-No. You gotta go before they come back."

Tony takes Peter's hand and adjusts his weight as it gets heavier in his arms. "No way, no damn way. Peter? Hey. No, no, absolutely not. We're getting out of here together. We've got this, right? You with me? Do you know how mad May'll be if I don't get you home? You know, I actually think I'd rather take on a couple of Hulks than deal with that."

Peter huffs a laugh. A bubble of blood pops in his nostril. "Y-Yeah, she's f-ferocious." Peter shifts and winces. "B-but I don't think I can get up, Mr Stark."

Something in Tony fractures. "Okay, then I'll carry you," he says easily. "What are you like a 100lbs soaking wet?"

Another tiny laugh, more breathless than before. "W-whatever, dude. I could take you in or, or out of your suit."

"Well, in the suit might be pushing it, but otherwise I don't doubt it, kid," Tony teases softly. He needs to keep Peter awake, keep him talking. He's getting weaker, growing heavier in Tony's arms. His breaths have started to saw in and out, like a death rattle. It's Yinsen all over again but exponentially more horrific. Tony's throat aches, burning with unspent tears.

Peter's eyes close and his head nestles into the crook of Tony's elbow.

"Hey, hey, kid, keep talking. You have to stay awake," Tony demands, shaking Peter just slightly.

He groans. "T-Tired," he slurs. His sore eyes open again, tears trickling down past his temples into the hair at the sides of his head. His voice cracks when he speaks.

"I want May."

Tony has to look away. He swallows a few gulping breaths. Blinks away tears. _Keep calm_ , he thinks, _be strong. Be strong for him._

He blows out his breath in a whoosh, barely holding onto his cracking composure. He gathers Peter closer. "I know, kid, it's okay. I'll take you to her, I promise, just keep talking to me."

"A-About what?"

"Anything. How's school going, hm? I heard you guys did a stellar job at the last decathlon heat."

Peter smiles. "We k-killed it, 's more like."

Tony feels one corner of his mouth twitch upwards in fondness. "Yeah? Well, nice work." He can see Peter's fading again and scrambles for something to say. "And w-what about the ladies, huh? Or the gents, Stark Industries is an equal opportunities employer. Anyone special caught Peter Parker's eye?"

"There's this o-one girl..." Peter's tone goes a little wistful.

"Her dad's not an illegal arms dealer, right?" Tony questions. Peter's look, in spite of the tears and beaten eyes, is withering. "Alright, just checking. Because the last one, I think we can both agree, was a bit of a debacle. We don't need a repeat, do we?"

"N-No," Peter mumbles. He breathes quietly for a moment then seems to summon a little strength from somewhere. "'m sorry, Mr Stark."

Tony frowns. "Sorry? Sorry for what? What do you have to be sorry for, kid?"

"Liz's dad," Peter coughs out. "Your plane. The, the f-ferry."

"Hey, no. Déjà vu. Don't apologise for wrongdoers wanting to get their hands on weapons of mass destruction. Anyway, didn't we talk about this? I remember all my uncomfortable moments of humility and I distinctly recall apologising to you for taking your suit," Tony frowns. It still makes him shudder to think of Peter battling thousands of feet in the air in nothing more than pyjamas, fighting a tricked-out man decades older than himself with the ruthlessness born of standing to lose everything.

"'m still sorry," Peter insists thickly, "and I w-wanted to say thanks, y-you know, for you looking...looking out for me..."

His voice is fading. He's struggling to breathe. The little burst of strength he found is gone and Tony knows with piercing clarity he's watching the kid in his last moments.

His stomach churns. His heart is thundering. God, he wants to run, to look away at least and not see. But he can't do that. He won't leave Peter on his own. He's such a good brave kid. He doesn't deserve that.

He deserves _the world._

Tears fill up his eyes. He shakes his head. "Don't say that, kid. You don't have to say that. Come on, stay with me, just a little longer. You're gonna see Aunt May and all your friends soon. I promised you, didn't I? You're a good kid, Peter, please don't do this."

"T-Think, think I'm gonna see Uncle Ben instead," Peter murmurs. A trickle of blood works its way out of Peter's mouth as he opens it to smile. Tony knows very little about Peter's murdered uncle, only what he could learn from news articles he dug up online. It didn't seem right to hunt for the official police report and May didn't elaborate when they first met and she told him she was a widow. Peter never talks about him. The fact he is now puts him just another inch closer to the unassailable edge he's about to go over.

Peter knows it. He's smiling and crying silently as well, fat tears striping his face. Instantly Tony's free hand is cupping his cheek, wiping away his tears with gentle strokes of his thumb. "Okay, okay, it's alright," he's saying thickly over his hammering heart, the lump in his throat.

The car battery sputters, then stops. Tony feels the hand in his squeeze minutely, just the tiniest pressure. He grips it back. Peter lets out a quiet gasp as the shrapnel in his chest goes over its event horizon, burrows into his heart. He watches Peter's eyes close. The boy sighs once and goes still.

For just a moment, Tony stares at him. Peter looks serene, peaceful even, despite the injuries. His body is warm in Tony's arms. He lets go of Peter's hand to hold him tighter and it flops limply to the dirt. With it, Tony's grief comes tumbling out, a sudden, eviscerating rush.

"Oh, _God_ ," he breathes, shuddering. He ducks his head, nearly touching Peter's forehead with his own, squeezing his eyes so tightly shut he sees stars. It doesn't matter. Huge tears are still leaking through, his shoulders shaking, heart thumping with exertion from holding back the force of his sobs.

Something roars from the doorway. A sudden burst of wind sprays Tony's face with gravel. He looks up through tears to see War Machine landing in the passage, mask flipping up.

Tony feels his eyes go wide. "Rhodey, Rhodey, help me," he asks wetly.

As Rhodey sprints to his side, Tony blinks and opens his eyes to darkness.

He doesn't start upright, just heaves himself up slowly, squinting in confusion as the bedroom materialises around him. He sits for a moment, taking in Pepper's ornate dressing table and the long, open curtains. The moon is a white eye peering down onto him through the tall windows. His cheeks are soaked with tears. His nose is stuffed. The engineer drags an arm across his eyes and stands, the carpet plush beneath his feet. Behind him, Pepper stirs.

"Tony? Is everything okay?" she asks drowsily.

"Fine," he says lowly, not trusting his voice. "'Need some water. Go back to sleep."

Pepper "hmms" and rolls over, sinking effortlessly back into unconsciousness. Tony staggers out of the bedroom, grabbing his StarkWatch as he goes, and heads down to the kitchen.

"Lights, thirty per cent," he instructs once he gets there. A soft glow fills the room, bounces off shiny metal furnishings and marble counters. The kitchen smells freshly of lemon, the time on the cooker is 03:02 and it grounds Tony in the here and now. He makes for the sink, running the faucet and splashing his face with cold water. It's a shock to the system and with every clear, icy droplet the dream fades a little, his heart rate decreasing. The intense emotions are still there though, bubbling in him, sitting hotly in his chest and aching heavily in his gut. He thinks of Peter's warm, broken body in his arms and has to lean over the sink when the grief floods him again all at once, thinking for one awful moment he's going to be sick.

It passes and Tony breathes for a long minute. He cups some water from the tap in his hand, preemptively rinses out his mouth with it, then gets a glass. As he sips it, resting heavily against the island, he brings up Peter's vitals on the watch.

"FRIDAY, gimme a readout," he orders quietly, eyes too sore and fuzzy to focus on the holographic projection.

"The kid is currently located in the Parker residence, Boss," FRIDAY reports dutifully. "He ceased all Spider-Man-related activities almost four hours ago. The suit recorded no injuries or illness and his vital signs are normal. Presently, he is sleeping. Would you like to hear his daily report?"

"Play it," Tony orders, knowing that the only thing that will calm him down is hearing in the kid's own words that he's okay.

"Hey, Happy!" comes Peter's young voice, spritely as ever. "Just checking in. Today was pretty slow, not loads to report. I did help this little old guy who fainted crossing the street. Guy had on way too many layers, I think he was cooking in all those sweaters. Like I know it's cold but, _dude_. It's not _that_ cold."

Tony smiles, flicking absently through his emails as Peter babbles over the speaker.

"Actually, that reminds me, Happy, I know it's not like Avengers stuff and there's still a coupla months to go and all, but I really need your advice for what to get Mr Stark for his birthday, man. Like, I was thinking about it today because I helped this really nice Mexican family move some stuff into a hall for their daughter's  _quinceañera_ andthen I wondered what sort of presents you get Tony Stark for his birthday because the guy has, like, _everything_ so I'm already like ten steps behind and it's gotta be something really awesome so he knows how much I appreciate all he's done for me and stuff, so, uh...Yeah, man. If you can give me any pointers, that'd be really cool."

Tony shakes his head, still smiling though his throat is inexplicably tight, and lets the rest of Peter's round-up play on. He downs the last of his water and flicks off the email app.

"...Okay, Happy, guess that's everything," Peter's wrapping up. "Speak to you tomorrow!"

The holographic display winks out and the kitchen dims, but Tony feels lighter, stronger.

From beyond the grave, Yinsen's words float through his mind. _So you're a man who has everything. And nothing._

He thinks of Peter's optimism, his hope and innocence. He'd tried to keep his distance but the kid was unshakeable. In its way, it was nice to be needed, and Tony knows—with a little more mentoring, of course—that one day Peter will be the best of them. And that he wants to be there to see it, beaming proudly all the while, knowing the future is secure in the kid's hands.

Tony smiles to himself, raises the glass of water to Yinsen's memory.

_Not anymore_.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok i got a bit liberal with this one. i've had this oneshot written for so long, so if a lot of my writing is starting to look the same lol that's why...it's probably old and i've dug it out to fulfill these prompts. this chap was going to be part of a 5+1 thing, like '5+1 times tony had a nightmare about peter and 1 time it was real' or something but i couldn't think of enough ideas and decided it (sort of) fit the torture prompt, even though it's just a dream and more of the aftermath rather than the actual torture. so yeah, hope that's ok that i've taken some liberties...many thanks for reading! <3 :)


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